


The Dreadful Night Shall Break

by skidmo



Series: The Dreadful Night Shall Break/Come Let Us Sport Us While We May [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 14:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skidmo/pseuds/skidmo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn’t want to do this anymore.  A brief interlude taking place sometime between In the Beginning and Monster Movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dreadful Night Shall Break

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Cradle Song" by William Blake.

Dean’s lying on the bed, curled up on his side, fully clothed, leather jacket pulled up over his shoulder. He isn’t sleeping. Can’t sleep. Can’t let himself sleep.

He’s alone, and he doesn’t want to be. He wants to be curled around someone who feels soft and curvy, someone who smells sweet and clean, someone who’ll cling to him, whisper in his ear, call him ‘baby’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘darling’.

But he can’t bring himself to get up, go out to a bar, put on the Dean Winchester Charm. It’s too much effort to try and smile when he doesn’t feel it.

A hand falls on his shoulder, and for a second he thinks it might be Sam, though he didn’t hear him come in. He clears his throat and glances over his shoulder, ready to grin and pretend he hasn’t been moping in the dark by himself.

But it isn’t Sam. It’s Castiel, and Dean knows it’s not worth the effort of pretending with him, so he shifts back onto his side, huddling further under his jacket. He doesn’t shrug off the hand, though, comforted by its weight and warmth.

“Are you all right?” Castiel asks softly.

“No,” Dean says gruffly.

“Can I help?”

“I don’t know,” Dean rumbles. “Can you?”

He turns onto his back, and Castiel’s hand falls from his shoulder. “I don’t want to do this anymore,” he whispers, trying to swallow back his tears of frustration, of loneliness, of anger. He knows his eyes are red, and he can’t seem to manage to wipe his face. “The nightmares, the demons, the fucking apocalypse...God’s _plan_ for me. I don’t want it anymore. I’m tired. I’m...angry. I don’t know what I’m doing. Can you help me with that?”

He means to sound angry, to rant and yell at the angel, but his words come out pleading instead. He really doesn’t want to do this anymore, but he won’t just refuse. He can’t. He knows what’s at stake.

“I can’t,” Castiel says, and he sounds almost sad. “I’m sorry.”

Dean nods. He doesn’t even have the energy anymore to be angry. He turns away from Castiel again, onto his side.

“Should I go?” Castiel whispers.

Dean answers too quickly. “No. Stay,” he murmurs. “Please.” I don’t want to be alone.

He doesn’t look back, but he can hear Castiel taking off his coat and jacket, laying them on the bed, and then Castiel is lying behind him, an arm around his waist. Dean doesn’t touch him, doesn’t even lay a hand on top of Castiel’s. Castiel isn’t any of the things Dean was looking for, but he can feel the warmth of Castiel’s body on his back, can hear Castiel breathing, feel it on his neck.

The hotel alarm clock flips from minute to minute, and Dean watches them tick by, still not letting himself fall asleep. Occasionally, his eyes droop closed, and he shakes himself softly to stay awake.

“You don’t sleep,” Castiel says quietly.

“I don’t want to,” Dean answers, shifting uncomfortably.

“Why?”

“I just don’t.” _I can’t take the nightmares._

Castiel sighs, and his breath tickles the back of Dean’s ear. “I can’t take away your burden, but I can give you one night’s peaceful sleep.”

One night. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not much. But it’s a rest. A respite. A refuge.

“Okay.”

Castiel’s hand slides up from his waist, and he presses two fingers to Dean’s temple. “Sleep peacefully,” he murmurs.

***

When Dean wakes, after a deep, dreamless sleep, he’s alone again. He shivers under his jacket, feeling empty and exhausted, and hating himself for missing the warmth at his back, the hand on his waist.

 _  
_fin_   
_


End file.
